Listen a Little Harder
by Darkpathway
Summary: Written for the prompt: "You, a telepath, are getting migraines from the loudest internal screaming you've ever heard from the next room" (from writing prompts) Summary 1: Crowley had heard of telepaths before but he'd never seen one before. Or at least someone that pretended to be one. Summary 2: Crowley sees a fake telepath fooling around and decides to try it out himself.


I originally started writing this to practice writing for upcoming exams and didn't even THINK that it would be more than 300 words :/

I should've planned ahead I guess.

Enjoy!

Crowley had heard of telepaths before but he'd never seen one before. Or at least someone that pretended to be one. The first time was a part of a street act. A man, dressed in robes, had walked into the clearing and announced that he was going to read three men's thoughts. He called himself 'The Great Telepath'. He had picked and 'read' the minds of two men he had picked. The first man had been thinking of what he would do to his wife when he got back home. That one had sent the crowd giggling and laughing immediately. The embarrassed man had walked back into the crowd and not a second later the second one was picked. The second was thinking about giving his mother flowers. Lo and behold, he was carrying a bouquet in his hand. The crowd awwed at the man who walked away from The Great Telepath with a shy smile on his face. Crowley shook his head and sighed. It was staged. From the shock at being picked to the nervous laughter as they had their minds 'read'. Before The Great Telepath could pick someone else, Crowley stepped forward into the ring.

"Read my mind, oh Great Telepath." In the corner of his eye, he could see a conflicted looking man looking between the two of them with panic. So he was supposed to be picked next. Crowley grinned as he walked up to the 'telepath' who was looking a little more nervous with each step before collecting himself.

"Prepare yourself! For I, The Great Telepath, will read your mind and reveal your innermost desires," He said in a great booming voice. It grated on Crowley's nerves. It was nothing like the soft and pleasant voice he was used to after many millennia of intently listening to Aziraphale. He mentally shook himself. Aziraphale had rejected him. He had only asked for one thing since the beginning. A way to protect himself. Even then Aziraphale had walked away after telling him his true feelings. He didn't need him.

"Come here so I may reveal to the world your darkest thoughts." The man gestured to the spot where the two other men had stood minutes prior as Crowley walked up to him at a leisurely pace. The man cleared his throat and moved his hand to Crowley's forehead. Crowley knew what came next. The man would close his eyes, make weird faces then declare what he'd learnt. But first, he would take a deep breath and look into the eyes of his subject.

As the man stared at Crowley's glasses at where he guessed his eyes were, he let his glasses slide down his nose. The man stiffened immediately. Crowley widely grinned at the man and winked. He wasn't being very fair to the man. He obviously didn't believe in people being able to read others minds and likely didn't believe in the occult either. The Great Telepath then closed his eyes with great difficulty. The strained face he made wasn't fake this time. Genuine fear of the being in front of you could do that. Moments passed and the telepath didn't back away as he had previously. The crowd waited with bated breath. Then The Great Telepath took a big step back. His breaths came in short bursts and he screamed, with as much force as he could muster,

"Demon!"

The crowd gasped as The Great Telepath staggered back before fully turning and running. Crowley smiled after him and tapped his cane on the ground before leaving too. He had caused enough havoc for one day. Now there'd be rumours of a demon in London for at least a couple of weeks. They'd probably start getting paranoid about every little thing too. Seeing a black cat, walking under ladders and whatnot [including seeing soulless redheads]. It didn't really matter since there _was _a demon in London but they didn't know that. Usually.

He couldn't have cared less. Aziraphale had refused to help him stay safe mere hours ago. The chance that he wouldn't ever get to talk to Aziraphale again was too high. He breathed in deeply and set off to the nearest nunnery.

Maybe some more long term chaos would help get his mind off of things.

During 1862 nothing else notable happens. Without Aziraphale's presence, a lot of things seem pointless but he decides to carry on. In the next 20 years, he would break his personal record for 'evil' deeds. He didn't report them all to downstairs, obviously. Can't raise their expectations too much.

The late 1800s pass by much slower then he thought it could've. Time doesn't change pace for anyone but it seemed to specifically target Crowley to make sure he felt every second a bit more than everyone else. Thankfully, he finally gets to the early 1900s. Those years are a lot more hectic than he had expected. He knew that the humans would do something terrible again but it always surprised him.

On a lonely night late 1918, he is very drunk. He finally celebrates for the first time in decades and his mind wanders down a path he doesn't let it when he's sober. When he's drunk it seems that the wine takes the joystick that is his thoughts and goes to town. Up, down, left, right, anticlockwise, clockwise.

And just like that, he remembers the note. He makes a frustrated noise before chugging wine straight from the bottle instead of pretending to be civilised. No one was there with him so why did it matter?

He sighed through his nose and tried to move on from that moment. The next thing he'd done after Aziraphale had rejected him wasn't very surprising. He'd stared at the pond for two hours unmoving before he got tired of being harassed by people asking about the weather or about the ducks. They were terrible spies and their frustration didn't help him at all. He'd walked away from the park as leisurely as he could and had forced himself to focus on his surroundings for half an hour before he'd stumbled upon a crowd. The crowd had been a blessing [would curse be more accurate?] in disguise.

A man calling himself The Great Telepath had jump-started his record-breaking two decades. He honestly had him to thank for his past 60 years of function.

"To The Great Telepath!" Crowley raised his bottle before tipping it back. He choked back a sob and dropped his arm to his side. His breathing quickened, similar to The Great Telepath's when he'd closed his eyes, and he curled in on himself on the ground. The wine was really moving that joystick like crazy.

He put the wine bottle aside and took a deep breath. Nothing would change if he had a breakdown so he might as well avoid it. He involuntarily thought back to the fake telepath. He'd claimed he could read people's minds. To his knowledge, no one could do it. Human or not.

Time to break a new record.

He closed his eyes and focused. He wanted to hear other people's thoughts. How hard could it be? He was a demon for crying out loud. He could do anything if he put his mind to it.

And he did.

"... Is she sure abou…" So it _could_ be done. He focused harder on that one thought. It was coming from his neighbour.

"Whatever, the war's ended and I think I deserve some reward." Crowley grabbed his bottle of wine and brought it to his lips. "She's got a nice face and good tits too." Crowley no longer had any wine in his bottle or his mouth as it now covered his pants and the floor in a fine spray. "Oh, God, she's so…" Crowley stopped listening and covered his face. So it was possible.

He was going to move out in the morning.

He could hear creaking from the other side of the wall and a soft feminine voice. He grabbed his jacket and hat and left immediately. It was early enough in the morning. If you thought about it, 11 pm was only a couple of hours from 6 am.

In the following months, Crowley would practice listening to people's thoughts and would become quite good at it too. He could listen to about three people thinking about different topics without confusing himself now. He was proud of himself. For once he didn't seem to be functioning but rather living. It was a welcomed change.

When World War Two started, he immediately signed up for intelligence gathering. Now, he could listen to a room full of thoughts without getting muddled. In the following two years it helped him and Britain considerably. He was a very well known face now. He was amazing in interrogations and didn't even need to resort to violence to get his answers. He just had to ask the questions and they would think of the answers. It was simple and effective. His spy work was most valued though. Everyone could get information, maybe not as quickly but they could get it, but not everyone could find the spies within the area as well as he could.

These skills led him to a church on a night in 1941. He hadn't told anyone where he was going. He'd 'overheard' a very obvious spy 'talking' about books of prophecies at a certain church that would get delivered to the Fuhrer. The spy would get caught within the hour but the books would be handed over within minutes.

He'd raced out and jumped into the Bently. The church was half an hour away for everyone else but only a minute for him. No one would dare stop him not that anyone could. He was a demon with a mission and demons with missions get things done.

He'd parked the Bentley out front and rushed over to the entrance. He'd stopped at the doors for a second to listen in to the thoughts of the people in the church.

He heard screaming.

He covered his ears but the screaming continued just as loud. The screaming was in someone's thoughts. He couldn't tell how many people were inside because of how loud it was.

"Bollocks," He whispered. He tried to quiet the screaming by focusing less and miraculously it worked. Now it sounded like a mouse screaming. High pitched but faint. He could handle that.

He pushed the doors open and hissed as his feet touched the consecrated ground. He could deal with the burns later, right now he needed to stop those books. He took another painful step, then another. They hurt like hell but if he kept moving it hurt less. What was that trick with the hot coals? Move evenly but constantly. He kept that in mind as he rounded the corner.

"Crowley?"

He did a double-take. What was the angel doing here? It took the burning of his feet to make him move forward and _think_.

The books of prophecy. Of course. How stupid could he be?

"Here to save you, angel," He said as smoothly as he could while hopping from one foot to the other.

"Anthony J. Crowley, your reputation precedes you," Said the man behind the lady who was holding a gun up to Aziraphale's face. Aziraphale made a face at the name but kept quiet. Aziraphale was looking more confused than worried even with the gun in his face.

"The famous Mr Crowley. Such a pity that you must both die." She smiled and turned the gun towards him.

He hadn't brought anything with him that he could use as a weapon. He had his swagger and his miracles. His _miracles_. Right, demon. He concentrated on the thoughts again. There wasn't any screaming anymore but there were only three sets of clear thoughts. Considering none of them sounded like Aziraphale, his thoughts were probably the soft whispering.

"She should just kill them alre-"

"The Fuhrer won't be happy without that book of true prophec-"

"Anthony J. Crowley in the flesh. Can't believe I have to kill him."

Crowley looked the lady in the eye and smiled. "You don't have to." She startled at his whispering. "I can take you to a nice bar. We can talk this out can't we, dearest?" He felt like he was projecting Azirphale a little. Speaking of. Aziraphale was staring at him weirdly.

She made a face and her thoughts got louder. "Dearest." She gave him a small smile as a response to his question.

"I'd like him to call me that."

He couldn't tell who that was. It was too soft but it was probably the lady. She _was_ repeating all of his words in her head in a mantra. He grinned at her then his eyes flickered to Aziraphale. He seemed to a little more comfortable now. Which considering the stalemate wasn't too bad but they still could get shot.

"Well, it was nice meeting you all but I think you should give those books back to him." He nodded towards Aziraphale. The man standing closest to the books (who had been worried about not having the right book) chuckled.

"These books will be sent to the Fuhrer tonight." He said. "Shoot them."

She looked saddened by this but fixed her grip. Hadn't she just wanted him to call her dearest?

"If you leave now, you'll be able to get away," Crowley said as he leaned on one of the pews. His feet were going to be blistered to heaven and back after this.

"Get away from what?" The man who hadn't spoken yet asked.

"Something that my friend and I would need a real miracle to survive." Crowley very pointedly looked at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale blinked and Crowley could hear his thoughts getting ahead of himself. "A miracle? A _real_ miracle? Oh my, a miracle. To save Crowley and me? A _miracle."_

Crowley almost left then and there. What else could he have meant? Instead, he nodded at Aziraphale who dazedly nodded back. Aziraphale's thoughts continued to run in the same general direction.

"What are you talking about?" asked the lady. She looked very confused.

"This." He pointed above his head and not a mere second later the whistling of a bomb dropping could be heard. And it got louder. And louder. Crowley closed his eyes.

"Why did you come here?" It was just him, Aziraphale and burning bits of the church now. He sighed in relief and cleaned his glasses. He was glad that Aziraphale still liked him enough to save him. He couldn't rely on him after how they'd left it but had forced himself to. Not trusting Aziraphale right now was a sure-fire way to never get back to what they were.

"Heard an angel needed saving." He grinned teasingly. Aziraphale huffed and smiled fondly. Then he snapped out of it in a panic.

"Oh, the books! I forgot about the books! They'll be destroyed now." His shoulders sagged. Crowley walked over the broken church and pulled the bag of books from the hand of the tall and thin man.

"For you." Crowley cleared his throat. "A little demonic miracle of my own."

Aziraphale's smile was radiant. Crowley took off his glasses and cleaned them again to have something to do.

"That was nice of him."

"Shut up, Angel." Crowley slipped his glasses on.

"I didn't say anything, dear," Aziraphale said.

Crowley shook his head and gestured forward instead of responding. "Lift home?" He waited for Aziraphale to process what he had said before walking off to find his Bentley. He was sure he'd parked it close by but nothing looked the same anymore. At least he had a wider view. Aha, there it was.

"That'd be lovely."

The most awkward car ride in, well, ever had to have been this one [cars weren't old enough to have more than a couple of awkward moments courtesy of Anthony 'Just a J' Crowley]. They sat in silence with the radio playing in the background. Aziraphale's thoughts weren't that interesting or either. The angel seemed to have a one-track mind. Right now it revolved around his books.

He pulled up in front of the bookshop that he'd remembered Aziraphale having last time he saw him. It was a safe bet for an angel that always changed a couple of decades too late. There were no objections Aziraphale, mental or vocal. He stepped out of the car at the same time as Aziraphale.

"Should I thank you?" Aziraphale asked as they walked up to the door.

"Better not," Crowley said and turned back to his car as Aziraphale unlocked the door. He wondered what he would do at home once he got back. A celebration seemed too unnecessary. He could terrorise some people at the bars. Maybe cause a fight.

"Would you like to stay?"

Crowley halted and looked up at Aziraphale. Aziraphale looked hopeful but nervous. Couldn't decide on one so it seemed he'd gone for both.

"I'd better get back to my apartment, got people waiting," He said. That was a lie. Nothing was waiting for him there.

Aziraphale's smile dropped a little. "Next time then." It sounded more like a question.

So Crowley responded. "Next time." He felt his lips quirking up before he could squash it. He quickly walked to his car. He could feel Aziraphale radiating happiness behind him.

"Erm, well, goodnight." He slid into the driver's seat and watched as Aziraphale replied and went into the bookshop. Crowley let his head fall onto the steering wheel. He was _so_ awkward. Why did the angel even want him back? Not that he wasn't happy about it but it confused him. He lifted his head, rubbed his eyes and reached for the steering wheel.

Then the screaming started.

"What in-" He covered his ears again. Nothing changed. The smart part of his brain suggested he do what he'd done before instead of sitting there and gritting his teeth. He took that advice and tried focusing less as he'd done earlier and thankfully it worked. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. What was happening to him? He sat there pondering for a little longer then drove off.

That was a problem for tomorrow's Crowley.

"I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go."

The Angel's face hadn't changed since he'd offered the first time. He was losing hope but he knew that he had to insist. He'd been listening to what Aziraphale was thinking _only_ after the first time he asked if he wanted a lift. Aziraphale had a hard time asking for what he actually wanted so Crowley listened in to make sure that he actually repaid him properly. Although Aziraphale was 105 years late, he _had_ helped him. It was all he could have asked for. He had promised himself that he wouldn't listen after he got his answer. He didn't want to invade his privacy but instead wanted to make sure he did the right thing. Aziraphale's thoughts hadn't given away any locations or anything other than what he was saying before he said it. It was like he'd considered all the possibilities and rehearsed. It made him nervous.

Finally, Aziraphale sighed.

"You go too fast for me, Crowley." He opened the door and left.

Crowley turned away and admired the patterned thermos. At the very edge of his hearing, he could hear what sounded like whispering. Considering that he was alone in a car, it was very unlikely that it wasn't someone's thoughts. He paid closer attention and focused on that singular thought.

"I can't believe I just did that! Oh God, I'll never see him again… What have I do-"

Crowley stopped listening. He didn't want to hear about Aziraphale's regrets. He knew that Aziraphale wouldn't be happy about it when he asked first time around and he hadn't expected him to change his mind. He didn't think that Aziraphale would regret it as soon as he handed it over.

Aziraphale didn't come back to correct his 'mistake'.

Crowley drove home in silence with the thermos in the seat next to him. He'd secured it so that it wouldn't be able to fall off the seat and spill [the seat belt, however temporary, was very useful]. When he got home, he parked and rushed upstairs. When he came back down, he had tongs and long and thick rubber gloves. He pulled the thermos out of the car and slowly made his way up the stairs. When he finally secured the thermos in his safe and put his gear away, he let himself feel tired.

He'd been high strung since Aziraphale had gotten into the car with him. He hadn't been expecting to see him for another couple of months at least. They'd met up just last week for drinks at the bookshop. It had been fun. They'd gotten drunk, laughed about this and that, and discussed their future plans.

"I think I'll open a shop too," Crowley had said. He hadn't seen Aziraphale's face but had heard him turning from the rustling fabric. "I'd sell plants. I've heard it's therapeutic to speak to them." He lifted the glass to his lips and tipped it back. Some had sloshed over the brim and onto his shirt.

"That sounds lovely. What would you call it?"

Crowley had pretended to think about it before answering. "A. J. Crowley and Co."

Aziraphale had hummed in agreement.

"My dear, I've been wondering for a while now," Aziraphale had started, looking a little red in the cheeks. "What does the J stand for?"

"Oh, uhhh, it's- umm," Crowley had spluttered. He'd needed a distraction and the only thing he could think of was alcohol. "Would you look at that! Our glasses are full! Bottoms up, angel," Crowley had said before chugging his whole glass. He'd slammed his glass on the coffee table before looking up.

Aziraphale hadn't even lifted it to his lips.

"Alright, alright. You wanna know what it stands for?" Aziraphale had nodded. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." Crowley had thrown his leg over the arm of the couch. "All the humans were doing it so I thought I'd get a middle name too. Didn't know they had to stand for something until after I'd picked it."

That had been their last conversation before the 'Incident' [Crowley had a tendency to label things dramatically before the consequences even appeared. This led to him labeling a lot of little things over dramatically. For example, when the Tower of Pisa started leaning he had called it 'The End of Time']. He didn't know why Aziraphale had decided to give him the holy water. Maybe if he'd done something differently he wouldn't have regretted it so much. He shook his head. It was up to the angel to decide what he would and wouldn't regret. If Aziraphale was hell bent on regretting, then he would regret.

Nothing he could do other than not be affected by Aziraphale's regret.

The way he'd found out about the regret was through telepathy. Logically, if he stopped listening, he wouldn't ever hear Aziraphale's regret ever again which was exactly what he needed. It was foolproof.

"I'll drink to that," Crowley said as he lifted his empty hand and brought down an open bottle. He didn't expect to see Aziraphale again for quite a while. This meant that he had some time to get rid of his habit but he would miss him. He hoped he would see him soon but it was unlikely. So, after little thought, he drank himself till he passed out surrounded by quite a few bottles while he tried to forget his own regret.

Only later would Crowley realise that he was right about three things. One, he would be able to get rid of his habit before he saw Aziraphale again. Two, he would miss Aziraphale to hell and back. Three, he wouldn't see Aziraphale for a long time. To be precise, he wouldn't see Aziraphale until right after he delivered the antichrist.

It was over. _Finally_, it was over. They hadn't done much if he was being honest. He was a demon so he was rarely honest but this time he thought that honesty would pay off. His part was short and simple. He was there and he stopped time and he supported the anti-christ's decision to stop Armageddon and he stood up against his superiors and he helped the anti-christ get his confidence to yell at _the Fucking Devil_.

Huh.

Maybe honesty wouldn't pay off.

Considering that his superiors, Satan and Belzeebub, were there he couldn't get away with lying. Alas, he was fucked. He was going to be stuck on a pike and then slow roasted so he could be served to all the demons who were gathered. Roasted snake, anyone?

He summoned a bottle of wine into his hand. If he was going to die soon he might as well enjoy his last hours. He brought it to his lips and drained half of it in one go.

"Angel?" He held it out to his right for Aziraphale to take. Aziraphale nodded and took it. He didn't chug it like Crowley had but did drink a good amount of what was left before handing it back. Crowley filled it back up to the brim before taking another drink from it. A few overly self-indulgent miracles couldn't worsen the situation he was in so why not pamper himself? He could do or say anything he wanted and nothing would change.

"Hey, Angel," He said lolling his head to face Aziraphale. "You ever felt love?" He didn't want to be unfair but he _was_ going to be destroyed tomorrow [at least he believed he was] so he decided that it couldn't hurt to listen in. What's the worst that could happen?

"What?"

"Love, Angel, love. The warm gushy feeling you get when you look at someone and they smile and oh the butterfli-"

"Yes, I know what love feels like, my dear," Aziraphale said. He grabbed the bottle from Crowley's hand and took a mouthful for himself.

Crowley just stared.

How had he never known? They'd practically lived side by side for the past 6000 years. How had he never noticed when he'd been fawning over Aziraphale himself? Surely Aziraphale couldn't be that good of an actor that he'd never noticed side glances at _anyone_.

Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Who?"

"You."

"Ha ha, real funny," Crowley said eyeing Aziraphale. Hope was blooming in his chest but he couldn't let himself fully believe. He couldn't. If he misheard or if Aziraphale didn't mean it he'd be destroyed [in a more metaphorical sense]. Aziraphale looked… confused.

"What are you talking about, my dear?" Aziraphale said. "I didn't say anything."

Now it was Crowley's turn to be confused. "Didn't you just say 'you'?"

"I didn't say anything, my dear," Aziraphale said his cheeks turned slightly pink. "It wouldn't be wrong but… I really didn't say anything. Is your hearing alright?" He reached out and lifted Crowley's chin and turned his head. Crowley's cheeks flamed.

"I uhh what?" Crowley said. He looked at Aziraphale carefully to track each reaction. "What did you say?"

"Oh golly, we really need to get your hearing checked. I have heard that humans can do some amazing things for hearing these days-"

"Nonono, Angel, I can hear just fine." He moved his head away from Aziraphale's hand. "Could you repeat what you said?"

"I said you wouldn't be wrong." Aziraphale sat back with a thump and brought the bottle back to his lips. Crowley stared at him again. He was doing it often lately. Aziraphale pulled the bottle away with a sigh.

"Aziraphale I-"

"How did you-"

They paused.

"You first."

"No, you first, my dear." Before Crowley could protest, Aziraphale spoke. "I insist." He gave Crowley a small tired smile. It'd been a long day.

"I uhh," Crowley said. He paused. "I've been meaning to say this for a while but with all this going on I couldn't find the right time." 'and you never would've said it back' was left unsaid. "For a while now- wait no- uhh-" he made some unintelligible noises and covered his face.

"Take your time," Aziraphale said with the same smile.

Crowley looked through his fingers then removed them from his face. "That's the thing, Angel. I've taken enough time. Millennia in fact. Maybe more but go- _somebody_ why is this so hard?" He groaned again. He took a deep breath, got up stretched his arms and legs [he also shook them all over the place] then sat back down and swivelled to face Aziraphale. At this point, Aziraphale was looking at him weirdly.

"Angel," Crowley said.

"Yes?"

"I..."

"Yes?"

"I… I love you! That's it! I said it!" Crowley took the bottle and tipped it back so it was ninety degrees to the earth and _drank_.

Aziraphale's smile grew and he shone. "I love you too, Crowley," Aziraphale said.

Crowley chocked on the wine and started coughing violently. Aziraphale immediately shot up and pat his back sympathetically until the coughing fit subsided. Crowley put the bottle down in front of him and cleared his throat.

"Erm, thank you?" Crowley was hopeless. His glasses were askew and he had the most confused expression on his face. This was a rollercoaster ride. To hear that Aziraphale loved him was different when it was a rather a strong suggestion but to hear it straight from the Angel's mouth clear as day? Killer. Maybe that's what 'Killer Queen' was about.

Aziraphale giggled. "Oh, you lovely boy. You are just wonderful." Aziraphale leaned over and pressed a kiss to Crowley's forehead. Crowley froze then turned bright read. He was dying. It was official. Downstairs didn't need to bother with fetching him. This angel was sending him downstairs with premium same-day delivery.

Crowley mentally shook himself and returned back to the present. Aziraphale was practically shining. Wait, no. That wasn't quite right. He was _literally_ glowing.

"Angel, you're glowing," Crowley said. Crowley wondered if it was an angel thing or an in-love thing.

Aziraphale blinked then slowly stopped glowing. Crowley wished he hadn't pointed it out. He missed it already. While on the topic of missing things.

"You were going to say something earlier." He waved his hand in a vague 'go on' gesture.

"Oh, yes! I was just going to ask how you knew my answer before I even said it?" Aziraphale asked.

"Ah. Well, Angel, don't get mad." He'd made a mistake. Aziraphale was definitely going to get mad now. Nothing for it then. "I learned how to listen to people's thoughts years back and I never told you because we weren't talking when I started or when I kept doing it but I stopped so please don't be mad."

Aziraphale said nothing for a bit. Crowley knew that their bodies didn't need to sweat but he felt like he couldn't stop himself. He'd just found out that Aziraphale loved him and if this made him leave he didn't know what he'd do.

"When did you start?"

That didn't sound like forgiveness. Crowley's shoulders drooped. "It was after the holy water."

"In the 1960s?"

"1860s."

There was silence. Crowley doubted that he would be forgiven now. He'd been listening to people's thoughts for over a century. Aziraphale knew how important privacy was to normal people. Heaven. For any being it was important.

"The Church?"

"I was only there because I heard that there were Nazi's meeting there. I was working with intelligence." It didn't excuse his mind reading or whatever he wanted to call it but at least he had a good reason other than invasions of privacy.

"The holy water?" Aziraphale didn't have to say which 'holy water' moment he was talking about.

"I swear I didn't mean to listen in. It was only after you left for a couple of seconds! I hadn't even realised I was listening before I stopped! I'm so sorry, angel. I never meant to listen in to your thoughts. Never. It was the only time I ever did and I stopped altogether after that and I realise that I shouldn't have in the first place. I-" Aziraphale put his hand up and silenced him. Crowley's heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his feet, stomach and chest. If something was going to come out of their confessions, like a relationship or _something_, starting off with distrust was not the way to go.

"Why did you listen in earlier?" Aziraphale said. He wasn't facing Crowley anymore. He was looking straight forward with his hands knitted together in front of him.

"I just- It's just that I'm not going to be around for much longer." Crowley didn't want to outright say that his superiors were going to destroy him because that brought a whole train of thought he would rather not deal with right now. How would they do it? Holy water dumped over his head as he'd done to Ligur? Holy water injected into his veins so he would burn inside out? Or would they torture him for eternity and destroy him in a more metaphorical sense? He needed a drink. Or at least more drinks. He looked to where he'd left the bottle to see that it was next to Aziraphale's leg. He couldn't bring himself to get that close so he sat still.

"I think you'll be around for longer, my dear," Aziraphale said. His smile wasn't completely back but he could see the tips of his lips had up turned slightly. "Don't be disillusioned, we _will_ be talking more about your telepathy but for now I think I just want some rest. I think I will stay in your company a little longer as long as you don't try to read my mind 'Oh Great Telepath'," Aziraphale joked.

Crowley had heard nothing funnier in all his 6000 years.

He threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed. Aziraphale had started to laugh at one point too though he couldn't tell when. By the time their laughter had died down, Crowley was sure that he would be sporting a six pack come morning.

He wiped a stray tear from his eye and looked over to the love of his life. Aziraphale was sitting contently in the same exact way except for the pleased smile that had bloomed across his face. What a lovely sight it made.

"Angel, I love you," Crowley said still riding his euphoric state. He could do anything if his angel was by his side. Aziraphale was his angel now, wasn't he? Was he in heaven? "Wait, is this real?" Crowley frantically sat up properly and looked at his surroundings. Maybe he could find a detail that would give away that he was in a simulation.

Aziraphale giggled and started to glow faintly. "I love you too and this is very real, sweetheart," Aziraphale said, his cheeks going slightly pink. He wasn't truly confident about declarations of love and loving nicknames but he would be very soon. He would keep practicing if it meant that Crowley practically melted every time and currently Crowley was doing just that.

All of his hard work to sit up right on the bench was ruined as he settled into it a little fuller. His cheeks were burning and he tried to force down a smile without success. He looked a little odd. His hair matched his cheeks and his jacket had ridden up to his ears but he didn't care. Aziraphale had called him _sweetheart_. He could die happy now. Actually, no. He would never die happy. Not when he had the chance to be with Aziraphale.

"I'm still not convinced, angel." Crowley grinned widely. "Or should I say, Gabriel?" His grin transformed into a toothy smile. He knew where this would lead and he was looking forward to it.

"Oh, whatever shall I do?" Aziraphale had caught on. "Would doing something Gabriel would never do convince you, love?"

"Yes," Crowley squeaked. The nicknames were a lot harder to be unaffected by.

Aziraphale brought a hand up and held Crowley's glasses. "Is this alright?"

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale slipped them off smoothly. Aziraphale instantly brightened. It was getting hard to look at actually.

"You have beautiful eyes, love." Aziraphale frowned a little. "Are they usually this round?"

Crowley turned the shade of his hair again. He'd just gotten in under control dammit [for Crowley, under control meant not bright red. For others, it would mean not at all pink. He hadn't gotten that far since he'd first gone pink.]. He had known his eyes could do that but it'd never been a problem because of his glasses. Now that they were gone, he felt a little naked.

"They uhh sometimes do that." Crowley cleared his throat and looked away. "Usually when I'm feeling a little happy or stuff."

Aziraphale cupped Crowley's face between his two hands and brought Crowley face to face with him. "Can I kiss you?" Aziraphale asked softly.

"Angel, no one ever asks anymore. How old are you really? Six thousand and fifty-" Aziraphale kissed Crowley and pulled back. It was definitely a peck. A lovely lovely peck.

"Will you be quiet now?" Aziraphale asked smugly.

"Yes, yes, that works, yup, definitely." Crowley rambled. Once Aziraphale let go of his face, He immediately moved closer to the angel. _His_ angel.

"Not to be forward, but angel, would you stay at my place tonight?" Crowley asked. "It's just so you have a place to stay not because of anything I promise. I'll buy you dinner first."

Aziraphale's glow died down. "I know, dear, you get quite flustered by everything it seems. It'd be quite a stretch to assume you would try anything the first night." He frowned. "Why would I need to stay at your place?"

"The bookshop burned down, remember?" Crowley was just as saddened as Aziraphale was. It was part of their history that he greatly treasured. At least, they were both still here to create more memories.

"Oh." Aziraphale swallowed. "I'll take you up on your offer then."

Crowley intertwined their fingers. "You can always stay with me, angel. Any time, for however long you want. I won't ever say no to you," Crowley said and smiled. He didn't want Aziraphale to dwell on it for much longer. It wouldn't bring back the bookshop or help with their current situation. They had to survive tomorrow before worrying about repairs.

A bus rolled up in front of them. The stops weren't going to be the ones that the driver had on his list but he wouldn't notice. After all, the driver now really likes Mayfair. He just _had_ to go.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley stood in front of his angel and held his hand as he got up as well. He smiled as they climbed onto the bus and joined their hands for the second time in millennia. Aziraphale maybe a little angry that Crowley listened to his thoughts or sad that his bookshop was gone or scared of what would happen to them tomorrow. But the bus would take them to Crowley's flat where they could settle down and plan and understand what they were to each other. They would have time afterwards to understand boundaries, to explain and understand, and to learn about each other. But that would all come later.

For now, all they wanted to do was warm each other's hands.

Just to clarify, the soulless gingers comment isn't actually about gingers in general, it's about one chaotic ginger. His name is Crowley and he cannot be stopped.

I hope you enjoyed! Smash that like button, pulverise that favourite bookmark bar and gently stroke that comment box.


End file.
